To Kill a Mockingbird (epilogue short)
by TardisWizards
Summary: In this epilogue short story, Scout is grown, and accused of murdering her late husband, Boo Radley. Dill, infatuated with her, is exceedingly bitter. I hope you enjoy the story.


**Chapter I.**

"Jean Louise Finch Radley?"

Barked the prison guard. A grotesque substance ran down his face, while his demented eyebrow slanted upward. His face beheld a twisted sneer, while his eyes sparkled with malice. A putrid stench misted aloft his head, while a stump of dismembered flesh ran menacingly up the papers, as if the rest of the phantom arm grasped a knife. In fascination, Scout watched as the beefy plumpness of the stump jingle as he moved. Scout then proceeded to harden her gaze penetratingly into the depths of the guard's pupils.

"Well I ain't Winnie Churchill now, ain't I?"

Scout antagonized. Her eyes skimmed the room, running over the sickly orange wallpaper, blemished with conspicuous red slashes. Everything was crisp, from the desk to the lacy moth-eaten curtains, fighting battles against the beating of the wind. The resulting noise was a thump, which amplified off the rustic cherry wood flooring.

"Twenty-four years old?"

"Yessir, this december."

Scout attempted to remain composed and ladylike, as she used to be constantly reprimanded by Aunt Alexandra. Scout smiled in remembrance of those old lousy memories, ghostly swimming in her past.

"Accused with the murder of Arthur Radley."

"Yes."

A switch turned in Scout's brain. They had now crossed a threshold she refused to enter. Scout whispered hoarsely, her sweaty hands clinging in desperation to the flowered armchair. She glared at it. A smile crept around the corners of his face with a grim note of satisfaction. His face twisted into a gnarled, steely sneer. Frightened, Scout edged her chair backwards, screeching against the wood flooring. Marks appeared under the table legs, which Scout attempted to hide beneath her skirt. Much labored upon, the dress was a trophy, one Calpurnia marveled at, on display in some Ladies' shop.

Scout summoned her confidence, and stoutly said with ease,

"Mister…?

"Bellingwhim."

The Guard twiddled his fingers with anticipation.

"Prove I am guilty."

Her fingers drummed a beat against the edge of the desk, which wove itself into his subconscious.

"uhhhhhhhh….. Thats fer the judge to judge, missus."

The guard found himself stupidly saying.

Dumbass. Scout settled indignantly against the backboard of her chair, having realized she wasn't just fanning a flame, she up and dumped an entire thing of gasoline on the fire.

"Yer incompetence is overreaching. I never killed Boo, I never'd kill him."

The Guard shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wrinkled

"Oh shut the hell up, ye damned thing. Ye should know little girls shouldn't play with fire. They get their fingers burned."

" I'll give you sommat to burn!"

Scout yelled, and in a moment, her knuckles went into his cheek, his eyes blinking rapidly in confusion.

Who was this girl? Who'd she think she was?

"Now listen 'ere, you little…."

He forcefully restrained her wrist. In an instant, Scout writhed her way out of his grasp.

"Prove I'm guilty."

She repeated flatly. The door clicked conspicuously, and both watched the creaking door with wide anticipation. There in the doorway, stood Jem.

"C'mon, Scout."

Reluctantly, she turned away from the guard, and extinguished her fight.

"Jem, you know I'd never...Jem?"

She gazed questioningly into his eyes. Why? She thought. A voice answered, 'cause you told im' to.

The two walked silently down the hall, regarding each other with wariness, avoiding each other's gaze.

"Scout? What happened?"

Jem broke the steady silence.

"I didn't kill him."

Scout repeated stubbornly.

"I know."

Jem reassured her.

"Dill did."

 **Chapter II.**

"Jean Louise Finch Radley, please approach the stand."

The judge barked. The room was stuffy, the windows were bolted, and the wooden benches were laden with a scratchy cloth. Scout marched herself with dignity up to the rickety weatherbeaten witness stand. Scout swore on the bible, and was admitted to the chair.

Atticus glanced at Scout and nodded curtly and businesslike, as he stood warily to question her.

"Miss Jean Louise."

Scout looked upon Atticus incredulously.

"Aged….twenty-four years?"

"Yessir."

Scout answered.

"Accused with the murder of Mr. Arthur Radley."

"Indeed."

Scout replied in a half whisper.

"Now, in your own words, depict for us exactly what happened."

"Boo an' I were walking to the courthouse, going to see you Atticus. I told 'im something, and he up and ran. I hollered and followed him, keepin my pace."

Jem nodded from the pew, and motioned for her to continue.

"I caught up with him. And… and… His mangled body lay next to the tree. The big hollow one, way o'er at 'is place. It was a sickening sight, his limp body lyin helpless like that."

Scout finished with a deep breath.

"Were you in possession of any weaponry?"

Atticus asked.

"No sir."

"We examined Arthur's body. No restraint marks were found upon it. He obviously died willingly."

"Dill killed Boo. He killed 'im near the old magnolia tree. Boo knew. He mentioned once that he was gonna leave. I had no idea what he was talkin about at the time."

Scout followed.

"Thank you Miss Radley, you may now step down."

Atticus nodded in her direction, less stiffly this time. The smartly dressed man in the suit stood up indignantly.

"I object your honor! This is no evidence, it's simply the view of a diluted girl!"

"Mr. Finch, unless you can support evidence, your time is up."

The judge ruled. Atticus nodded silently.

"I call my next witness, Mr. Charles Baker Harris, please approach the stand."

Dill walked bent over and pale to the stand, as if he were an ancient old soul, archaically aged.

"You were a friend of Miss Radley as I understand it."

Atticus began conversationally. The Judge looked at him expectantly.

"We were engaged."

Dill tossed Scout a look of the utmost contempt. Scout cringed, however fired a glare of loathing back at him. She must have been too convincing, for Dill looked away sadly.

"Now, Where were you at the time of Mr. Radley's death?"

Atticus pressed.

"I was clippin my flowers. Scout 'ad planted 'em. She did so unwillingly, if I recall."

"Interesting. For your neighbor, Jem Finch claims otherwise."

Dill shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Thank you. That is all."

"Mr. Jem Finch, please approach the stand."

Atticus, Scout could tell, grew weary of this process, though he seemed to retain a composed, tireless attitude. Atticus was simply old. Jem walked excruciatingly slowly, and as he approached the witness stand, Scout rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"You claim to have seen Mr. Harris run off at approximately 4:30 pm? Roughly the time of the potential murder?"

"Yes. He was equipped with a rope. Said he needed it for something. I presumed it was for an animal or something. Now I think on it, my assumption was stupid."

"Now."

Atticus began businesslike.

"Dill remains the one with the only motive. He remained jealous and spiteful of Mr. Radley, as he married Miss Finch, the only one he ever loved. He nurtured his anger into something hideous, hate. He wished to see him dead. The rope marks on the body indicate suffocation. In fact, the murder weapon was found lying beneath the bushes, on the South side. Not cleverly disposed of."

Atticus finished, refusing to look directly into Dill's eyes. Atticus sadly regarded him with a look reserved only for the pitiful. Dill looked pleadingly into his eyes, seeming to recall that one summer's night, long ago in Maycomb County, when he was caught hiding under the old knitted blanket draping down underneath Scout's bed. Atticus looked away.

"Do you deny it?"

The Judge questioned.

"I..do, I do your honor."

Dill whispered.

The glare of the setting sun reflected off of Atticus' wide-brimmed glasses, sending arrows of light shooting in an angular direction.

"Is this...not yours?"

Atticus asked craftily, as he drew from his crisply washed coat pocket, a rope. It was bright green.

"No...no sir."

Dill responded quickly, averting his eyes.

Resounding laughter echoed around the courtroom.

"Aw, not a soul but Dill's got a green rope like that 'un."

Yelled a man suppressing laughter in the back pew. A few others joined in, yelling in agreement.

"Order! Order!"

The gavel came down with force, as the Judge ordered it.

"I object! Your honor, this proves nothing!"

The flustered defendant threw his hands up in frustration.

"Very convincing evidence has been displayed."  
Atticus interjected.

"Objection overruled."

The judge boomed.

Atticus retreated to his bench, saying,

"I rest my case."

Dill creaked his chair as he stood up, avoiding the gaze of Atticus as he strode back to his seat.

"Mr. Pulitzer shall now bring forth his witnesses."

Called the Judge. The smartly dressed man stood up confidently, striding up to the stand.

The questioning proceeded, as Scout began to drift.

"Miss Radley? Approach the bench."

The judge commanded intimidatingly. Startled, Scout jolted awake. Jem nudged her.

"I'm goin, I'm goin."

Scout mouthed in annoyance. She took her seat with pride, and retained composure throughout the questioning.

"Thank you, you may take your seat Miss Radley.

The judge ruled.

This court stands in recess until six p.m tonight."

With a gavel, they were dismissed.

The evening air was regarded with anxiety, as the approaching decision hung around their heads. The clock struck the hour, and all were once again congregated in the old courtroom.

"This court will now come to order."

At once, distant murmurings ceased, and Scout smoothed her crisply folded dress nervously, as Jem drummed his fingers against the musty wood of the pew. Dill stared at his linen shirt. A jury member slipped the calmly awaiting judge a slip of paper.

"This court rules in favor of Jean Louise Finch Radley."

Scout could breathe again. She heaved a sigh of content. Jem patted her affectionately on the back, as Dill covered himself. For all Scout cared, he could go to hell. To think he ever loved her. Dill tossed her a desperate fleeting remorseful glance. She looked upon him with disdain. She would never forgive him for this. Never.


End file.
